Top of the List

I am a list maker.

I make weekly To-Do lists, grocery lists, laundry lists and errand lists. There’s also birthday lists, doctor lists, and grooming lists. Of course, let’s not forget the Honey- Do list.

It’s my attempt to keep on top of things.

It makes me feel in control, at the mommy wheel and commander-in-chief-ish.

To say the least.

If there’s a lost errand, rambling about loosely, undone, unaccounted for and undocumented, I hurriedly shoo it in the direction of said lists.

“Now, now, haircut, you’re not going to get the best of me this season. Go find your place at the top of the list.”

“Ah, dental cleaning….go stand in line with the vaccinations. And, not such a sour face, please. I promise I won’t put you off much longer.”

“And, where do you think you’re sneaking off to, Ms. Mammogram? Hmmmm? OK, Ok, you can stand at the end of the line, but no more hiding out with Mr. Pap.”

My list making does consume quite a bit of my time. In fact, I spend much of my day overseeing these lists.

“I know, I know, Oil Change. Your point is duly noted. Pops will receive a memo with his coffee.”

“And, sorry, Mildew in the Shower. We’ll have to take you off any and all lists until further notice. Check back when the kids are enrolled in school.”

“Pedicure, pedicure. I understand you’ve been shuffled and reshuffled. But, there’s no getting around it. End of the line with you!”

“I know, I know Mr. Date Night. You’ve been parked last in line far too long. How about I upgrade you to a Quickie and we call it even?”

What with the managing of all these personalities, it’s a wonder anything gets done around here.

Good thing I have lists.

Toddler Aerobics

My toddler had a serious case of the wiggles today.

Getting changed….

“Get back here, Miss Naked Pants!”

In the car….

“Eyaaak!!”

At the store…..

“NO standing in the cart!”

At lunch……

“Get out from under there!”

The good news is, those who play hard, sleep hard….mostly.

Time for a good book and a little afternoon nap.

Anybody seen my Snuggie?

Chocolate Bandit

He couldn’t be guiltier if he had been holding a smoking gun.

He was standing there wearing his boxers and a lopsided grin. And, he was holding the empty box of Dreyer’s chocolate peanut butter ice cream

“You wanted some?” He asked, attempting to display belated concern.

The gall. The indecency. The lack of civility.

“Scoundrel!” I muttered under my breath, turning on a swift heel.

Now, let’s hope he doesn’t discover the missing Hershey’s chocolate bar that was hidden in his top desk drawer.

Because, that would make me a hypocrite.

Or something. No?

A big thank you to Babymakin' Machine for the lovely shout out! If you haven't been over to visit her yet, what are you waiting for? Jen is so bright, funny and charismatic.....

A Jurassic Lullaby

“Rock a Bye, Baby…”

My two year old was cradling the plastic Jurassic beast in her arms, patting its scaly back and kissing its reptilian nose.

“Shhh,” she whispered in its ear before placing it in the cradle for further rocking.

“Go sleep,” she cooed.

I stared at the Velociraptor, swaddled in a pink baby blankie, bottle shoved between its prominent fangs.

I admired my little one’s nurturing; her kind way with the ferocious creature.

She slipped a chubby cheeked baby doll under the covers next to the dinosaur.

“Friend,” she declared, eyes glimmering with joy.

And, I could have sworn, those red dino eyes shared the same glimmer.

For different reasons.

Needless to say, I re-located that fat dolly to a safe house later that day.

Not on my watch, ya overgrown croc!

Just wanted to give a big thank you to Heather from The Extraordinary Ordinary. She gave me such a lovely shout out the other day here. I am the "short and sweet" that she refers to (third paragraph down to be specific). If you haven't seen Heather's blog, please head over. Her posts are so well written and moving. After visiting her blog, you'll feel as if you just had a chat over tea with an old friend. The gal's got talent. You won't be disappointed.

My favorite post of Heather's is here. "Remember" It's simply lovely.

I'm all ears!!

“I couldn’t believe it….

Really, if I behaved that way.

To have the nerve…”

Snippets of enticing conversation had slipped into my bedroom from an open window. Eager for a chunky morsel, I moved in for a better look and listen.

A lady pushing a bouncing baby buggy was passing beneath my window on her way to the neighborhood park.

And, apparently, she was knee deep in the most delicious conversation.

“Shocking!

You don’t say??

Really, now?”

Unfortunately, the other party involved in the conversation was notably absent.

Darn Bluetooth.

Takes all the fun out of peering over the fences.

“I just can’t believe the audacity.

Can you run that by me again??”

Yes, please do.

Ooops. Did I say that out loud?

Put Up Your Dukes!

The hysterics began slowly, building gradually and then peaked with one sharp, explosive piercing SCREECH!

Now, mind you, the panic would have been contained if the furry legged, multi-eyed beast of an arachnid had stayed in his corner of the tub.

But, oh, no.

This fierce bug had postured himself into a threatening stance. Perched on his hind legs, front legs balled into a fist, Spidey eyeballs rolling…..

And, pinchers pinching.

Not sure what this fella had in mind.

Guess he figured he could take me.

Maybe even thought I had it coming.

Perhaps he had planned to teach me a lesson.

Gimme a taste of my own medicine.

Serve me a knuckle sandwich even.

Typically, I am not one to back down from a fight. But, I just couldn’t see myself locking horns with this critter. Just not my thing.

I scurried off, tail between my legs, to fetch my hubby.

Hubby stomped in with his size 10 boots, eager to provide a quick and easy, albeit messy, solution.

And, then, I re-considered.

“Wait!”

Hubby hesitated, boot hovering over my opponent, quizzical look on his face.

“Ah…..um….I mean.…well…” I attempted to explain my thoughts.

Hubby raised an eyebrow.

“Ya gotta admire the spunk,” I said.

“Go get a cup.”

And, tonight, somewhere in our garden, a lone soldier returns home to the village, full of tales of bath tubs and gentle giants.

“…And, so, I gave her the ol’ one, two…See?

Tryin’ to mess with the likes of me.

Ain’t happenin’ on my watch. No, sir!

Next time, I’ll clock her where it counts…”

The Incident....

I found the doll hidden beneath the bed, crammed between a family of dust bunnies and a discarded Mr. Potato Head.

It was obvious what had occurred.

The knotted yarn hair and Crayola eye shadow…. The arms adorned with rubber baubles and plastic gemstones….. The fire engine red magic marker lipstick…..

The doll had quite obviously paid a visit to the toddler beauty parlor. Or, rather, the visit had been paid to her.

And, by the looks of the scissored off locks, I have a feeling my preschooler provided some technical assistance.

I tried to calm her, apologizing for my offspring’s callous attempts at beautification.

“They didn’t mean it, Miss Raggedy.”

“There. There.”

“They had the best intentions.”

But, there was no calming her. She insisted upon filing a complaint. Calling the authorities. Informing Dolly Social Services.

I continued to try to reason with her, but she was not having it.

Apparently, she had had enough. She wanted to be re-located to a more dolly friendly home.

She accused us of being insensitive. Bigots. Backward minded.

I think she even pulled the doll card. She said our doll prejudice was overwhelming.

I was shocked.

I do admit, my gals have a preference for dinosaurs, lizards and bugs, but our doll sensitivity is in full swing.

I think.

Her tirade was at its height when hubby joined the scene.

Apparently, he had heard the ruckus and had a thing or two to say as well.

“Goodwill.”

That did it. Miss Raggedy threw her knapsack over her shoulder and headed for the door. She mumbled a few choice words before slamming it behind her. And that was it.

What a relief.

Now, if we could just get Mr. Raggedy to stop all that pacing and hand wringing, we’ have a peaceful home once more.

Ahem.

OK. OK….Don’t worry. We’ll send a search crew….eventually. But, sometimes a good cooling off is necessary. Especially for an uptight rag doll with an attitude.

Besides, she kinda had it comin’.

A Little 4 Year Old Inspiration

My heart has been captured by a four year old ballerina.

The stiff tu-tu. The pink tights. The tight bun.

I watch her stumble and scurry across the ballet studio floor.

Each dance move always ends with an elegant bow, despite the slips and spills.

Every spin, no matter how topsy turvy, is followed by an elegant stretching of the arms skyward and a teetering balance on tippy toes.

Each pirouette. Every plie. All are followed by a confident flourish of the arms and a curt nod of the head.

I am inspired.

As I lay entangled in the next awkward Downward Facing Dog in my Beginning Yoga class, I will think of that tutu.

I will sigh.

My legs burning. My arms shaking. My yoga pants creeping in a Northward direction.

I will try again.

And, I just might finish class with an elegant bow and a curt nod of the head.

Hope it helps regain my composure.

My Thinking Cap

I think I may have broken my thinking cap.

It’s my fault, really. I’ve been most careless with it. I always forget where I put it. Sometimes it’s missing days on end.

I’ve let the kids tinker with it. The cats have gnawed on it. And, I’ve even left it out in the yard overnight. Darn sprinklers.

Really, it’s been ages since it’s been polished…..

I just show her no appreciation.

Lord knows, thinking caps don’t grow on trees.

There’s millions of folk going about their days who are clearly not in possession of one of these dandy gadgets.

Sure, my thinking cap is peculiar looking. My particular model resembles an upturned silver colander adorned with bleeping lights and spinning buttons. Kinda makes for an interesting scene when I’m out mowing the lawn lost in thought.

But, heck, I’m the only mom on the street who has this model….or any model as a matter of fact.

It’s high time I take better care of it.

And, now, I’ve gone and broken it.

I’ve spent the better half of the morning changing batteries, pressing buttons and fiddling with wires.

Still no luck.

The use of Super Glue, scotch tape, and a bungee cord proved fruitless.

I’ve dipped into the tool box. Searched through my sewing kit. Rummaged through the craft box. And, spelunked the depths of my purse.

Still can’t find a tool that proves useful to my plight. Although, I did have high hopes for my purse sized nail file/ bottle opener combo, but that’s another post.

In my desperation, I’ve researched it at the library.

“Thinking who?”

Googled it.

“No results found.”

Asked Gramps.

“Eh?”

Nary a word of advice about my dilemma.

There are just no resources out there. No reference books or sites. Not even an old wives tale to consider.

What to do? What to do?

Hmmmm? Guess I’ve got to think on this for a spell….

Anybody got a thinking cap to spare?

Question of the year, isn’t it?

Yo, Mojo, Where You At?

I think I’ve lost my Mojo.

Yo, Mojo, where you at?

It seems my Mojo felt I was cramping her style. Bringing her down. Killing her vibe.

She hung around as long as she could before finally stealing away in the middle of the night, hot on the heels of some of my other lost friends (my patience, my sanity, my free time).

Since her disappearance, things have taken a serious turn for the worse. My inner fashion compass has been spinning erratically, hopelessly lost and confused. The end result is nothing less than a fashion nosedive.

I’ve been busting out the high waisted mamma wearing Lee rider jeans. I’ve developed a fondness for polyester and nylon. I buy hair scrunchies by the dozen. And, I seemed to have misplaced my favorite fanny pack.

I am really hanging on by my fashion fingertips, people. If it weren’t for the Wet and Wild makeup counter, I’d be a lost cause.

I first noticed my Mojo was missing at a recent wedding I attended. Happened on the dance floor. As I was attempting to shake it, I kinda forgot where it liked to be shook. And, how? And when? And, why?

And, now?

I am beginning to think my Mojo has been missing longer than I thought.

I simply must have my Mojo back.

I’ve called all her friends. Posted fliers. Offered up an award.

I just can’t go on without my sweet Mojo.

I need some help! Could we form a search party? Maybe everybody spread out and comb this place? Search high and low. Leave no stone unturned!

And, pedal to the metal, people.

I’d like to get my Mojo on tonight.

Showdown at the Corner Grocer

Standing in long lines with the kids at the grocery store just isn’t my thing. It really rattles my calm, cool demeanor. It unnerves me. Unsettles me. Kinda chaps my hide.

My point is, as the mother of two under five, I just do better when the cart is moving quickly through aisles. In fact, we all just do better with the wind in our hair and a nip at our cheeks. Our behavior is at its best with a rushed pace. We simply need an ever changing scenery of people, boxes of cereal and stacks of vegetables rolling past. Things move so smoothly…..efficiently…calmly ……when there’s movement. And, lots of it.

There’s something about being parked in an endless, unhurried line alongside tempting treats with a cart full of monkeys that completely derails the whole shopping experience. Needless to say, my mood takes an immediate nosedive.

I have done a few extra laps at the grocery store just to avoid a slow moving cashier. I have even deliberately quickened the pace when I spied a competitive fellow shopper eyeing the same short line. And, I’ve even gone so far as to cross items off the shopping list just for a chance to dart to a “no one’s in line over here” offer from a perky, Quick Draw McGraw cashier.

So, agreed, I like to avoid long lines. The question is, at what cost?

It was a typical morning at the grocery store. I had scored a double cart. I had found my items quickly. And, I had even happened upon a few sales.

My mood was light as I rounded the corner to spy a short line at check stand 3 with Ms. Quick Draw herself manning the ship.

And, then she came into view. Pushing a granny of a cart, complete with misbehaving wheels, it was clear she had eyed me first. She fidgeted with her Baby Bjorn strapped to her chest and was attempting to settle her grouchy toddler twins propped in the double cart.

With three kids under three years, I was clearly outnumbered.

Her cart was beyond full, bulging at the seams and groaning from the weight of the groceries. Not quite my pick to stand behind at the grocery store.

We faced each other silently, nose to nose, two mothers at the ultimate gunslinger showdown at the OK Corral.

She made the first move.

“You were here first?” I detected a snarl in her tone as her shifty eyes peered at the short line like a hawk peering at its prey.

The answer, of course, was yes. I was here first. My trigger finger was itching as I pondered my options.

I resigned myself.

“Go for it.” I nodded towards the line and left with a wink and a smile.

Sometimes, that long meandering line with the slow-as-Christmas cashier kinda looks inviting. Cozy, in fact.

And, sometimes, you just need to know when to back down.

Like a good gunslinger.

Pure sophistication.

It wasn’t that I disapproved of her new look.

I rather liked the glittery purple eye shadow. It added a maturity to her appearance. The pink plastic pumps matched the Barbie Princess clutch so perfectly. And I think we all would agree that the subtle baubles and jewels were simple understated beauty.

As for the elbow length gloves? Elegant. The satin, fur lined cape? Classy. The furry boa? Pure sophistication.

Unarguably.

It was the twisted “unmentionables” that had rang my alarm, caused my concern and raised my dander. The unmentionables that had been “borrowed” from a drawer….. my drawer….The “unmentionables” that had been turned inside out and planted atop my resident four year old’s noggin.

Apparently, my unmentionables resemble a hat. Or a helmet. Or a crown. Or a tiara.…errr…or something.

Nothing like getting your panties in a knot…….over your panties in a knot.

Just a day in the life.

She was a granny of a cart....

So, my question is, do grocery carts ever get serviced?

Do the tires get rotated? The air pressure checked? And, what about that alignment?

It’s bad enough these go-carts come equipped without brakes or properly functioning turn signals. And, have you seen the seat belts on these puppies?

When I last was loading my most precious cargo into one of these contraptions at the corner grocer, there was only one word that came to mind.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

This particular beauty was the granny of the bunch. She most likely had served her time well, carting around screaming babies and bulging brown paper bags through the years.

And, she had the war wounds to show it.

This granny of a cart maneuvered slowly through the store, squeaking as she went. And, she was most tricky around corners.

Most interesting was her rear driver side tire. It seemed to swivel continuously in the wrong direction, lost in its mad, never ending rotation. The rear passenger side tire was no better as it seemed to be struggling with a long piece of random string that had the misfortune of having wound its way tightly around the axel.

And, let’s not even speak of her appearance. I do understand that the years can corrode beauty, but……really…..a bath was long overdue.

One can only wonder what kind of a life these poor things lead. The life of a work horse. A slave. An indentured servant. A prisoner, even.

And, then I heard the hoopla.

He had made it across three lanes of traffic without a hitch and was now attempting a wheelie over the curb.

A lone grocery cart breaking free.

I watched his heroic run with a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat.

And then I did it. I left that granny cart in the most remote corner of the parking lot, far from the peering eye of any teenage box boy. Unfettered. Unrestrained.

And free to catch up with her man.

Ah. I just love a happy ending. Kinda made my day.